


Be Careful What You Ask For

by AntiMaterielGirl



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiMaterielGirl/pseuds/AntiMaterielGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A FLW throws a hissy fit, and after drawing her ire, Charon reaps a sensual reward. Pure smut - I figured that my adoring fans deserve some nice refreshing PWP. Rated Explicit, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Careful What You Ask For

“Get in there!” she shouts.

The door slams ferociously behind them.

“God DAMN it!” she screams. “I’ve HAD it!” she paces around the room, unbuckling her armor, and tossing it aside with disgust. “Doesn’t anyone have any PASSION anymore? Don't they feel ANYTHING? It’s always whine, bitch, moan and complain!”

“Well, you _were_ in a bar.” She whirls on him, and immediately he wishes that he heeded his better judgment. He should have just stayed silent and let her yell at the walls, at nothing, just to burn herself out. He stands stone-faced, still, next to the door, his usual spot.

“Did I ask you for input?”

“No ma’am.” He replies, obediently.

“Fuck, it’s sweltering in here.” She starts stripping off clothing, tossing it every which way, until she’s down to her underwear and tank top. _There. That’s better._ She starts to feel the rage inside her build again. “Ya know, I don’t think it’s too much to fuckin’ ask. Everyone’s beat down, defeated, PATHETIC!” she picks up a coffee cup and hurls it across the room, where it shatters into a million pieces. “After all I did for these sad sacks? This is the thanks I get?” He sighs, audibly.

“Oh, what? More comments from the peanut gallery?” she asks, sarcastically.

He closes his eyes slowly, takes a deep breath. His expression is vaguely sorrowful. He understands her pain; her anger at the lack of gratitude, the dearth of vitality in the wasteland. “The world is not going to conform to your desires.”

Picking up on the change in his mood, she says, “Oh, so you give a shit about something now?” She waves her arms as she yells at him. “Eight months of protectin’ me, coverin’ my ass, and you might as well be a stone. _NOW_ you get lippy?”

“Evidently.”

“WELL– “she stalks up to him, and points at his broad chest, an arm’s-length away, “– if you’ve got somethin’ to say, then you best say it now, else I’ll leave you down here in the goddamn dark all night.”

“Things are not always as they appear.” He says.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Brevity. Any more platitudes you got for me?” She crosses her arms across her chest.

He stands rigid, still, then speaks hesitantly, as softly as his gravelly voice will allow. “Perhaps you are looking for passion where it cannot be found.”

She blinks, speechless. “What do you mean?”

He sighs. _She’s so slow on the uptake, it’s frustrating._ “Sometimes, when you are so close to something, it’s hard to see it.”

“Wait – you mean YOU?” she laughs. “You probably don’t even have half as much passion as a potted plant.” His eyes narrow. “The only thing I’ve ever seen you take the least bit of interest in is makin’ something dead.” He sets his jaw and looks at a point above her head. It isn’t hard – he’s quite a bit taller than she is.

She stomps her foot, plants her hands on her full hips. “You want to show me what passion is, big guy? Here’s your chance. Show me that you have something in there besides blood and hate.” He jerks in surprise, hesitates. Her nostrils flare. "SHOW ME!" she roars.

His head shifts at the order, and he meets her gaze. She sees something in his milky eyes that she didn’t see before – or maybe something she missed. Something untamed; a wildness tightly controlled. She barely opens her mouth to gasp when she finds herself locked in a deep kiss, his dry rough lips on her soft, pliant ones, his tongue exploring her mouth with reckless abandon. She fights against him briefly in surprise, and then softens. He runs his hand through her sandy hair, savoring the sensation as drowning man would savor a precious gulp of air.

Abruptly, he snatches her up, drags her across the room, and sweeps all the items on the workbench off onto the floor with a mighty swipe of his muscular arm.  He sits her on the workbench, grabs the hem of her tank top, and tears it over her head with a vicious yank, freeing her soft breasts. He draws her to him, feels her shiver as he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks languorously. His free hand slides between them, his calloused hand caressing her smooth, pliant skin, and rubs her through her thin cotton panties. Mewling, she leans back onto the heels of her hands and thrusts her hips to meet him; he deftly slides the crotch of her panties aside to expose her moist sex to his waiting hand. He strokes her warm wetness, delighting in her soft, fervent moans.

He hesitates, briefly. _I’ll show you passion,_ he thinks, as his coarse finger teases her opening. He slowly pushes it inside her and she keens deliciously. He moves his attention to her other nipple as he pumps his finger inside her, now two, now three, opening her.  Her eyes are closed, mouth open, head fallen back. He kisses his way up her neck, breathing softly in her ear. “You want passion?”  he whispers. She nods and shivers in reply. He steps back and tugs at her panties, yanking them down roughly over one slender foot. _Good enough._ He fumbles with his belt buckle, with his trouser buttons. His aching length – throbbing now, out of desire for her – brushes against her thigh, and she stiffens, looks down, gasps.

“Charon, it won’t – “ she starts, but he hushes her and slowly – _oh so slowly_ – enters her. She is so warm, so wet, so _tight_ that he’s tempted to succumb to his instincts and thrust hard and deep. _I must do this right_. She whimpers, first in pain, then in pleasure; she wraps her legs around his rough, rended waist to meet his gentle thrusts, her arms wrap around his leathery neck to steady her as he grips her bountiful hips.

As she yields to him, his pace quickens, her moans come high and loud, matched by his deep, bestial growls. The workbench thumps against the wall insistently; she realizes, dimly, that someone outside could hear them, but it's the middle of the night and she doesn’t fucking care. Her breasts bounce, nipples brushing against his thin t-shirt. She tightens around him rhythmically. “Oh, oh!” she exclaims, then a deafening wail erupts from her throat, her whole body stiffens and bucks against him, squeezes him so tight that he can hold himself back no longer, and he joins her with a last mighty thrust, and his own guttural howl of release.

They rest there, panting. He looks down at her, meets her heavy-lidded eyes, takes in her flushed cheeks, and her soft, swollen, parted lips. He backs away slowly, and she moans softly as he slides out of her and eases her down to the floor.  He snatches her discarded tank top, wipes himself off, and tosses it in a corner. Leaning back into the workbench, head back, eyes closed, she hears a rustle, a zip, the clinking of a belt buckle. His footsteps recede, and then stop.

When she catches her breath, she opens her eyes. He’s standing in his usual spot next to the door, watching her. Her skin is damp with sweat, her golden hair mussed, panties wrapped around her ankle, his wetness dripping down her leg. There’s a satisfied smirk on his face when she staggers to the sink on rubbery legs to clean herself up.

 _You want passion, little Vault Girl?_ He thinks.

_Be careful what you ask for._

_You just might get it._


End file.
